


A Civil Union

by Fjm



Category: Chalet School - Elinor M. Brent-Dyer
Genre: F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fjm/pseuds/Fjm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to Tom and Rosalie after they left school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Civil Union

**Author's Note:**

> Premise: the setting of the original stories are roughly 1948, as the war is over but there isn't much money. We know that both Tom and Rosalie were thirteen in the stories. Tom says in Tom Tackles the Chalet School that she wants to do science, but much later we hear that she is working in a boy's club in the East End. The story covers roughly 1958 to 2006.
> 
> I’ve tried to keep the tone as close to the books as I could, for as long as I could.
> 
> This was one of my first attempts at fan fic so apologies for stiltedness.
> 
>  
> 
> Not my characters, they all belong to Elinor M. Brent-Dyer.

Dear Tom,

I can’t believe it! You got the job in the East End! Oh, Tom! I’m so pleased. I know you always wanted to work with boys, and working in the boys club is just the right thing for you. You did so well in the social work course. I just knew you’d come top! And you looked so splendid in your BA gown Tom.

I have news too! I applied for my first teaching job not far from where you are going to work, St H’s C of E Secondary Modern school for girls! I’ll be teaching domestic science. And guess what! I got it! Oh Tom, this is going to be so exciting! I’ve found a small flat over a shop, and Daddy said he would help me furnish it but I must find a flatmate, because he won’t have me living on my own. Oh Tom! Do say you’ll be my flatmate? It would be just wonderful! I can cook, and clean, and keep house for us, and I know you can do all the “fixing”. Do, do say “Yes”!

Your loving friend,  
Rosalie.

 

Dear Rosalie,

Good to hear from you. The job starts in September and I need to find somewhere to live soon. As long as you promise not to be soppy, then yes.

Regards,  
Tom.

 

Dear Jo,

You’ll never guess! I’ve just heard on the grapevine that Tom Gay and Rosalie Way are going to be sharing a flat together in London. As you know, Rosalie’s parents are very comfortably off and they have offered to set her up. She’ll be teaching at a secondary modern school for girls, which is very brave of her, as Rosalie is not one of the toughest girls we’ve ever sent into the world, quite the contrary in fact. I wonder how she will get on? Tom is making her own way in the world and after studying chemistry at London University she decided that she didn’t want a research career. Tom did some voluntary work at Toynbee Hall, liked it very much and went off to train as a social worker. She’s going to be working in one of the new youth clubs. I am sure you share my belief that we need have no fears for her. Living together will be a solution for both of them—Rosalie will probably get married soon, but until she meets a nice man, Tom will help her keep her feet on the ground, and Tom lacks any of the basic domestic skills so I suspect if she wasn’t living with Rosalie she’d have to hire help. Still, it is going to be amusing to hear how they go on.

Love  
Daisy.

 

Rosalie watched Tom unpack. The room looked pretty with its yellow crettone curtains, flowers on the bedside table and it’s patterned bedspread but Rosalie knew in her heart that Tom wouldn’t notice any of it. The dressing table ‘tho…  
“I like the dressing table. It’s like the one my father has.” Tom said.  
Rosalie smiled. She had taken her father shopping to buy that one. He was a bit bemused as to why she wanted to please Tom that much, but he had always liked and approved of Tom. Tom could be casual, but she always looked after Rosalie, and Mr. Way approved of anyone who looked after his little girl.  
Tom arranged her silver backed brushes and small jar of hair cream on the dressing table and looked on approvingly. She had already hung her slacks and shirts in the tall boy, and her work suits, all with skirts—she frowned at that thought, but those were the rules and she supposed she was used to them—but all cut in as masculine a way as she could manage. Perhaps she could get away with a tie. She’d have to wait and see.

In the morning Tom rose to the smell of bacon frying. By the time she had used the bathroom, it was to find Rosalie already sitting at the pretty breakfast table, eggs and bacon on Tom’s plate and several slices of toast carefully wrapped in a napkin. Rosalie smiled as she came in. Tom, hungry as ever, dived into the breakfast, and as she left that morning for her first day decided that the arrangement—which had worried her a bit—might suit very well indeed. Not having to think about cooking was a real pleasure.

Tom and Rosalie quickly settled in to a pattern. Each morning Rosalie made breakfast, saw Tom off to work and then tidied up before heading into school. Each evening Rosalie made tea while Tom cleared her paper work, then Tom would wash up while Rosalie graded and prepared. If both had finished their work, Rosalie would put on a record, or Tom—less musical—would turn on the radio for the news. Twice a week Tom organised a class at the local youth club for the teenage boys, many of whom were apprentices with local firms. At the weekend they would walk in the park, or go to one of the big museums in Kensington. Tom preferred the science museum, Rosalie liked the V&A best. In the evening Rosalie would knit or sew, and Tom either read one of her engineering magazines, or worked on the latest project she had in mind for “her boys” at the local club. Lately it had been radio repairs. The club wanted to make some money and radio repairs seemed a good way to do it. After Christmas however, Tom was going to get the boys started on a doll’s house for the Chalet School sale, and Rosalie would show the girls at the club how to sew the tiny curtains and cushions it would need for furnishing.

Three years drifted by this way. Tom settled quickly in her work, taking on a case load of “difficult” boys, some clearly bound for Borstal. For Rosalie it was harder; the girls at the secondary modern were rough and most expected early marriage and children. Rosalie was too gentle and too sensitive and it was almost the end of the first year before she began to win them over. In the end, her lovely manners and her genuine sympathy made the difference and she began her second year at the school with a great deal more confidence.

Rosalie went out with a few of the nice young men her colleagues introduced her to, but none of them caught her imagination. The nicest was Dan, a doctor—so many of her Chalet school friends married doctors—but on her last date with him she came home crying. Rosalie wouldn’t tell Tom what had happened, but a few days later, as Tom was leaving in the morning, Rosalie leant in and kissed her, quickly, on the cheek. Tom was startled, but after Rosalie repeated it over the next few mornings it became a habit and Tom, initially discomfited, gradually accepted it as just a Rosalie thing,

“Tom” Rosalie looked up from her magazine. “I’ve been looking at my savings account, and thinking.”  
Tom pulled herself away from the newspaper and the lull of the fire and looked over to the dining table where Rosalie had been sitting, turning the leaves of her magazine.  
“Tom, you’ve just been promoted, and my wages went up a bit this year. Also, Granny left me a small sum of money when she died. I’ve been looking at the newspapers and the price of houses. Do you realise we could buy a small house for what we pay in rent? We’d have to get Daddy to co-sign the mortgage, but I’m sure he would. And then we could have a house where we could really settle in: there isn’t much for you to do to this one. I know you like fixing things, but what about a house we could decorate, and garden? I know how much you like gardening.”  
Tom, startled, got up and moved over to the table. To her increasing surprise she realised that Rosalie’s magazine was actually a property paper, and laid against it was a set of accounts. Tom hadn’t really thought of Rosalie as all that practical, but three years teaching had taught her the value of organisation, and she supposed domestic economy was, after all, simply another branch of economics. Certainly, Rosalie never ran out of housekeeping money, and always seemed to be able to save something out of their joint pot for weekend treats. “Do you really want to stay living together?” Tom asked. Admittedly, she was rather settled but she had half expected Rosalie to move out some time ago, one of those young men perhaps. Rosalie didn’t look at her. “I’m settled. And I like having someone to do for.” Said in those prosaic tones Tom stopped worrying. Rosalie, it seemed, had outgrown her soppiness. She sounded very practical.

The new house was a little further out in the suburbs. It had three bedrooms, so Rosalie’s mother, by now widowed, could come and stay, and it had a nice garden which Tom dug with enthusiasm. Rosalie hummed as she worked in the kitchen, she liked being able to look out of the window as Tom weeded. Their first year there, Tom decided that they wouldn’t go to their respective homes for Christmas but instead Rosalie’s mother came to stay, and Tom’s parents stayed in a small hotel, coming for Christmas Eve and Christmas day. Tom’s father liked Rosalie. Her mother was a little suspicious, but had always expected Tom to do something odd, and Rosalie was a nice girl. Very nice.

Their first guests to dinner had been colleagues of Rosalie’s, the P.E. teacher and her flatmate. Everyone knew they were “career” girls. Tom had really hit it off with Andrea, and Rosalie liked Andrea’s friend Jill very much. The weekend walks in the park started to become opportunities to meet up with Andrea and Jill, and became extended to trips to the theatre and concerts together. Sometimes, in the park, Rosalie would slip her hand through Tom’s arm. After a while, Tom began to take it on herself to tuck Rosalie’s hand through her arm as they left the house.

Rosalie turned 33 in 1968. Tom was now head of a large department, in one of the London councils and Rosalie had just been asked to take over the domestic science department at school. Rosalie had grown from being one of the shyest members of staff to both confident and capable. Year by year, she had seen her friends and colleagues leave to get married, and each year thought, “But I have a home, and someone to look after, do I really want more?”. By now, her first crop of pupils were bringing their babies to show her, and she was torn between the delight of the mothers, and how very young they were. But 1968 turned out to be momentous. While interesting things happened in the world they happened for Rosalie too. She and Tom now had a solid circle of friends, mostly career girls like themselves. Tom was getting on at work, and it was now assumed that if Tom was invited to an event, Rosalie went with her. Tom would chat amiably to her male colleagues while Rosalie talked to their wives. For her thirty-third birthday her best friend Jill gave her a book, old, but newly released: The Well of Loneliness. “Keep it wrapped” Jill said, “Don’t bring it into school. Ever.”

The book was a shock. It was also very, very annoying. All that moping. All that dreariness. And Stephen was so infuriating. A bit like Tom really. A lot like Tom. And the end of chapter 20… how frustrating! Rosalie wasn’t sure what happened behind those words, but she found herself wondering quite a bit. It occurred to her that although she and Jill talked a lot about Tom and Andrea, neither of them ever talked. She picked up the newly installed ‘phone and called Jill.

“Really?”  
Over tea in the Lyons café Rosalie found herself getting very, very hot under the collar. She wondered if it would be polite to take her coat off. Younger women seemed to all the time, but she had been brought up in a vicarage, and then at the Chalet school, and hat, coat, and gloves were de rigeur. They also seemed a little over the top considering the tenor of her conversation with Jill. She looked at Jill’s hands, and then hurriedly looked away. Jill had just whispered what you could do with fingers. She gulped.  
“Rosalie”, Jill said, “why don’t the two of you come with Andrea and me to our club? I’ve always wanted to tell you, but Andrea kept saying she wasn’t sure. Tom is so very restrained and so anti what she calls sentiment, that I didn’t dare ask.”  
“Oh heavens!” Rosalie responded. “I have no idea how I’m going to get her there. Tom doesn't much like women you know. She likes Andrea because she says she is a proper gentleman.”.

Rosalie still laughed when she thought about the club. It had been down some stairs in a back alley. Not a proper place for a Chalet school girl to go, or the daughter of Mr. Way. And Tom was a vicar’s daughter! But then again, Tom was quite capable of reading Sappho in the original Greek and within a few years would be noted for on the spot recitations at Christmas parties. That night however Tom, in her best trouser suit, was awkward and uncomfortable, anxiously running a finger around her collar and trying to loosen her tie.  
“Rosalie! How do you know about this club? I’ve heard of places like these! They aren’t natural!” Rosalie laughed. “Tom, almost all of our close friends come here. Don’t worry. It will be fine.”  
Rosalie had a lovely evening. Several of the other women wanted to dance with her. Tom alternated between chatting to Andrea and some of the other girls with short hair, and glowering in Rosalie’s direction. She refused to dance. It was, as ever, “soppy”. On the way home Tom refused to speak to Rosalie, but took her arm firmly, pulled her Fedora down over her eyes, and fell asleep on the underground. When they got home, Tom opened the door, and pulled Rosalie in. Rosalie, smiling up at her, took one step further forward into Tom’s arms, pulled her face down and kissed her, very firmly, on the mouth. There was a pause. Tom looked about to speak, and then bent down and took over. 

Even in the 1970s Tom refused to talk about their relationship. Rosalie consoled herself that as far as she could tell, her married friends’ husbands were just the same. There were things you talked about and things you did and it was quite possible to keep both quite separate. Tom and Rosalie had been sharing a room for some time now, but although Tom took her everywhere, and they were, to all intents and purposes a couple, it was never acknowledged formally. Tom could wear trousers to work these days, and Rosalie’s married colleagues could keep their jobs but there were definitely things one couldn't talk about. Even, and this was beginning to put Rosalie’s teeth on edge, even at her women’s group. Rosalie had joined the women’s group out of boredom. Tom had joined the local Labour Party some years before—her father had been horrified—but Rosalie had hated it. She’d gone along, and made tea like the other women, but had been intrigued enough to ask a few questions. The put downs she received infuriated her. Rosalie was a very feminine woman, but her education at the Chalet School had no truck with the notion of “men’s business”. One of the other women had seen her annoyance and asked her along to another group. Rosalie was amused to find that Tom could be just as reactionary as the men when it came to her girlfriend organising a Reclaim the Night march.

When the details of Clause 28 of the Local Government Act came out, Rosalie and Tom were 53. Tom had been in management for some time now. Rosalie was a Deputy Head of a largish, and mixed, comprehensive school. Tom enjoyed her work, was a local Labour councillor, and could be described as mildly reactionary. Tom’s desire for gentlemanliness had always tended to make her a bit fuddy duddy. To the surprise of some of their oldest friends, it was Rosalie who had turned into the political dynamo. Her involvement in Reclaim the Night, had led to work with Women’s Aid, and work to assist battered women and their children. As the composition of her school had shifted, she had also developed a strong interest in supporting refugees. But throughout this, and despite their now lively lesbian social circle, neither Tom or Rosalie were “out”: their jobs, they felt, did not allow it, and Tom in particular felt that exposing one’s private life was Just Not Done. It was ungentlemanly. Soppy, even. Clause 28 changed this. There were rows. Tom couldn’t understand how her quiet Rosalie could be so angry, so loudly angry about it. Yes, Tom wanted to make sure it didn’t go through, but “do we have to go on the march?” Tom asked. “What if we’re seen? What will I tell my colleagues?”  
Rosalie gritted her teeth: “Tom, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I love you very much and I am very, very tired of being introduced to colleagues who are perfectly aware of what we are to each other, as your friend. Get over it.” And walked out. A few hours later, a sheepish Tom, in her best Paul Smith suit, slipped out from between some barricades and joined Rosalie on the march.

In 1995 Rosalie and Tom both celebrated their sixtieth birthdays and both retired. They received cards from many people, including some old Chalet school friends who had found similar companionship—one or two of the teaching staff as well. It had been a relief when everyone could acknowledge what everyone knew. 

Retirement was not what it once was. Tom was still on the local council and Rosalie was a J.P. Their relationship had changed also. For the past few years they had gone on regular holidays together to “lesbian friendly” hotels, getting more adventurous each time. Tom was still not demonstrative in public, but in private… Rosalie smiled. Even now, she treasured the way Tom would slide her arm around her as they watched television or read, not looking at her, pretending almost that it was not happening. Tom hated seeing the young girls kiss in public. Rosalie loved it.

 

The Chaletian: Alumni newsletter, January 2006

Miss Tom Gay (71) and Miss Rosalie Way (70) are pleased to announce the celebration of their civil partnership, in Islington Registry office on 20th of December 2005. They were surrounded by family and friends, and several old girls.


End file.
